


What Death Was Like

by Cartopathy



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Child Murder, Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, SO, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, WIP, but also jack harkness is always dying, idk what to say about that, major character death but like, so they're already dead, the whole story takes place in the land of the dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-14 13:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5746135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cartopathy/pseuds/Cartopathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack says, "If I’m dead, and there’s someone here to greet me, shouldn’t it be someone who matters to me? Someone I know?"<br/>"You don’t get greeted by someone," Ianto replies. "You get greeted by the person you loved most in life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learning How to Die

It’s the first time Jack has ever died, and he doesn’t even realize. He doesn’t know what room he passes through where there are voices in the dark, and he doesn’t know when he comes out the other side that he’s in the land of the dead.

He doesn’t know because he is not alone there, either. There is a man in a suit sat next to his supine body holding his hand and saying his name.

“Jack. It’s OK, Jack.”

The man is young and beautiful and Jack can’t comprehend what about lying in his arms wouldn’t be OK. He smiles up stupidly at blue eyes, pondering soft lips.

“Must have been a hell of an evening, cause I don’t remember you at all,” Jack says.

“It’s your first time, isn’t it?”

Jack laughs. “Hardly.”

“I know it is. I’ve seen them all and I remember all of them because they’re all happening right now and always. And I know that this is the first one for you. It was the Daleks on Satellite 5 and you were so brave.”

Jack smiles sleepily. “You talk like a Time Agent and you sound like you’re drunk. Is it still last night? Must be Christmas.”

“It’s always Christmas somewhere.”

Jack stands and looks around. They are in a cement room, like a warehouse without doors or windows or vents. There are no lights, yet it is light. There is eerie quietness without any of the normal whirring sounds of heating or cooling or wind. The air feels stagnant. Worse than stagnant. The air feels non-existent. “What the fuck kind of place is this? Who the hell are you?”

“It’s death, Jack. We’re all dead here.”

Jack feels a tremor in his hands, but refuses to believe. He holds a hand in front of his face “I can’t be dead.”

“It’s OK. You get used to it. Like I said, it’s only your first time.”

“People don’t die more than once, you idiot.”

The man smiles and Jack is angry at him for being happy. “You aren’t people, Jack. You’re you.”

Jack’s anger grows and he growls, “Well what the hell is that supposed to mean? And you never told me who the fuck you are. If I’m dead, and there’s someone here to greet me, shouldn’t it be someone who matters to me? Someone I know?”

“You don’t get greeted by someone. You get greeted by the person you loved most in life.” The man smiled, laughing under his breath.

“Then why don’t I know you?”

“You will.”

“No I won’t. I’m dead, remember?”

He smiles again and says, “Jack,” in the softest tone Jack has ever heard anyone say his name. “When I died, you were here waiting for me. And I am always here waiting for you.”

“Just one problem. How could I be waiting for you when you died, if you were here waiting for me? And wouldn’t that mean I’m the person you loved most in your life? And wouldn’t that mean we were in love? Because that’s absurd—I don’t do falling in love.”

“That was definitely more than one problem. And a person can change a lot in two thousand years. But most importantly, death is outside of time. Those rules don’t apply here.”

Jack shakes his head. “This is the shittiest dream I’ve ever had. There’s a good looking guy who I don’t even want to shag because he gets off on being such an enigmatic asshole.”

“Jack, I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?”

“You’re in shock, Jack.”

Suddenly those arms are holding Jack so tightly.

“You’re going to feel it soon. Feel the pain. Remember what happened. I can’t stop it, Jack.”

And Jack does. He feels the pain, distantly at first, like watching a film of a dying man, but then his legs and arms and chest are on fire and he feels the electricity still shaking them, still clenching his heart, still taking his breath and he gasps for air, so desperate.

“It’s OK, Jack. Jack!”

“I can’t breathe.”

“You don’t need to breathe here. You don’t need to catch your breath.”

“I need to. I need air!”

“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry for what’s about to happen to you. I’m sorry you’re going to be frightened and confused for so long. For so, so long. And you’re always telling me how painful it is, being dragged back across the void between life and death, how terrifying and lonely it is in that black room between the realms where the voices in the dark haunt you. I’m sorry I can’t go with you.”

Jack sees the face slipping away and the world around him grows darker and he can start to hear the voices in the dark. “I’m going back to life?”

“Always,” the man says.

“Who are you?”

He places his hands in his pockets and smiles boyishly. “Jones,” he says. “Ianto Jones.”

Jack is suddenly in the dark room again and there are voices, whispers, chills down his spine

and he’s gasping for air on Satellite 5. He remembers the Daleks, running out of bullets. Remembers stepping forward and letting them exterminate him. Remembers dying, and yet he’s here. Alive.

And death? What was death like? All he can remember is blackness and whispers. All he can remember is the pain and the fear.

**

Jack doesn’t die again for 23 years. He’s on Ellis Island and the man he’s arguing with has a gun and he doesn’t expect it, doesn’t even have time to understand what happens before he travels through the darkness.

When he arrives in the land of the dead, there is a man in a suit, and Jack remembers him, but not his name, not who he is. “I’ve met you before. In this room.”

“It’s Ianto, Jack. This must be early on.”

“Early? I’ve just died, so it’s pretty late in my timeline.”

Ianto laughs. “Yes, sir. If you say so, sir.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Jack stands and steps away from him. “You’re condescending and you’re an asshole and I don’t like you.”

Ianto grimaces. “Always the charmer.”

Jack stops and stares at Ianto. “And you think I’m in love with you.”

Ianto pushes his hands into his pockets. “Not yet. It will be a long time before you tell me you love me.”

“Uh, yeah. Like forever.”

“Just you wait, sir. Would you like to take a look around?”

Jack turns, looking at grey walls and a grey ceiling. “Looks…like you could stand to decorate. I think I’ve pretty much seen the place.”

“We could go somewhere.”

“There aren’t any doors.”

“Don’t need doors here.” Suddenly the walls are gone and there is sun shining in a park and they are stood in a breeze. “Lovely isn’t it?”

“How did we get here? Teleport?”

“Teleports transport matter. We aren’t matter, we’re only consciousness.”

“So where did the park come from?”

“I made it up.”

“It’s a boring park.”

“You pick then. What’s in your head?”

Jack wracks his mind, searching for a memory, and there is blackness and voices all around and Jack trembles, closing his eyes. Ianto’s arms are tight around him and suddenly they are on a bay instead listening to seagulls and Jack opens his eyes.

“What the hell is that place?” Jack says.

“It’s the void,” Ianto says. “I don’t want you spending any more time there than you need to.”

Jack realizes Ianto’s arms are still around him, and he pushes away.

“Do you want to try again?”

Jack starts to shake his head, but then a memory hits and he can’t stop it. They’re by the sea, but it’s nighttime and a group of men are yelling and one of them pulls out a gun. Jack is screaming. “It hurts! I can feel it. I can feel the bullet in my heart.” He grabs Ianto’s arms and looks into his eyes, pleading desperately. “Ianto! Don’t let me go back there.”

Ianto grabs his hands. “I can’t stop it, Jack. I can’t help it. I can’t make you feel better. I’m so sorry.”

**

Almost seven years later there’s another fight, another bullet, and Ianto is waiting.

“Oh, great,” Jack says. “You again. The angel of death. The Patron Saint of assholes.”

Ianto’s expression doesn’t change, but there is a subtle lightness to his voice. “Funny, if I had to describe you I’d mention death and assholes, too.”

“I really bloody hate you.”

**

Not even a week later and Jack has drowned, his foot snarled in a snare beneath the surface.

Ianto holds him, but Jack shakes him off. “Fuck you,” Jack says. “I never want to see your face again.”

“I’m sorry, Jack.”

“Don’t apologize, just fucking leave me alone.”

Ianto is unmoving. “It’s going to hurt. Do you want to be alone when it hurts?”

But Jack can’t respond because he’s shouting in pain and he feels like his body is being dragged across a field of broken glass and there is darkness.

He is alive and he gasps for breath desperately, but he is still under water, his foot still caught.

This time he lunges at Ianto, wrestling him to the ground, his hands tight around Ianto’s neck. Ianto lets him because he doesn’t need to breathe here, and feeling Jack’s hands on him is a thing of comfort. He lets him, too, because he has felt the anger of crossing the void himself and discovering he’s dead. He knows the pain of dying, and when it’s Jack, he feels that pain all over again. Feels anger that he can’t do it for Jack, can’t help him bear the pain of all those deaths.

Jack crawls into a corner sobbing. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

Ianto stares. “I’m not. I’m not doing this to you. It’s no one’s fault.”

They sit in the silence.

Slowly Ianto moves toward Jack, but Jack turns and shrieks. “Fuck off! Stay the fuck away from me!”

**

The next five months, Jack dies twelve more times, and he sits in silence in the corner opposite Ianto. They say nothing. The only noise Jack makes is the screaming when life takes him back again.

Until the time he’s stabbed by a broken bottle through the stomach. Now he sees Ianto and he’s ready for him.

“OK, I get it,” he says. “So I can’t stay dead. I just keep coming back here and then back to life. You should have told me.”

“Pretty sure I did,” Ianto says.

Jack’s voice is tense under his breath. “No. You should have made me understand. Because I have been out there living and dying and feeling so alone because no one else lives like this. I’m some kind of monster and you should have told me.”

“You’re not a monster, Jack.”

Jack can tell Ianto wants to hold him, wants to comfort him, wants Jack to believe him. Jack can tell Ianto means it. But he doesn’t believe him anyway. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

Ianto shakes his head. “Of course I don’t. But I made a promise to you that I will always be here for you, every single time.”

“You don’t need to keep that promise.”

“I do,” Ianto says. “Because I made it to you in your future. You knew exactly what you were saying when you asked me to promise. You knew about this time. You knew about the times you wished you could kill me for being here. And you wanted me here anyway.”

Jack steps closer to Ianto, right into his face. He speaks each word slowly. “You don’t need to keep that promise.”

Ianto raises his hand to Jack’s cheek, and Jack winces but doesn’t step away. Ianto only says, “Jack.” His voice is plaintive but not petulant, and Jack knows there will never be anything he could say to make Ianto break that promise.

Jack clenches his teeth and stares Ianto in the eyes, and then the pain comes and Jack wakes up in an alley in the dirt and there are two women waiting for him.


	2. Learning How To Live

Jack arrives gasping in the room, even though he doesn’t feel the pain anymore. “She shot me!” He yells.

Ianto smiles, even laughs.

“Oh, shut up,” Jack says.

“It’s nice to see you in your usual spirit, sir.”

“Angry?” He rubs his forehead where the bullet entered.

“It’s different, though. You aren’t angry at death, you’re angry at her.”

Jack smirks. “And angry at you.”

“You aren’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“You aren’t angry at me. You hate me.”

Jack blinks at him, incredulous. “What’s the difference?”

“You can be angry at someone and love the at the same time. You can’t hate someone and cherish them at the same time. Some day you’ll be angry with me, but for now you only hate me.”

Jack shakes his head. “I can’t believe you put that much effort into delineating emotions. Who cares? Either way, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Jack?”

“What.”

“They’re going to offer you a job. You should take it. That way you’ll be there when the Doctor comes.”

Jack scoffs. “A job? I’m immortal. I can do whatever I want. I can steal and they can shoot me, but it’s not going to stop me from keeping the money. Why the hell would I want a job?”

“So you can find the Doctor.”

Anger flashes across his face. “You don’t get to talk about that part of my life. You don’t get to act like you know what I’m looking for.”

“It’s not acting, Jack. I know you’re looking for him.”

“Then why don’t you just tell me everything about my life so I don’t have to bloody live it.”

Ianto grimaces. “But you have to live it. I can’t change that for you.”

“Then let me go back to life.”

Ianto takes a deep breath. “I’m not the one keeping you here.”

“Then who is?”

“Time isn’t real, here. You could stay for a thousand years, and still wake up 20 seconds after you died. You’re only here because you want to argue with me. If you want to leave, leave.”

Jack stares. “I’m not here for you.”

Ianto nods. “I’d hold you, if you let me. But that won’t stop the pain.”

Jack’s head throbs, aching and burning with shooting pains radiating across his skull from the hole in its front. His agony is visible in his eyes and Ianto watches him disappear.

**

Ianto is waiting in the darkness because it’s comfortable there for him, empty inside with no doors and windows, with charcoal grey all around. It reminds him of the basement of the Hub where he used to sleep. It reminds him of the way he felt so often when he was alive: isolated and bleak.

And this is where Jack meets him, even here in death. He enters an impenetrable room to be with Ianto, even if only to sit in silence.

There’s one thing death has afforded him, and that’s infinite patience to sit with Jack in his hatred. In his fear, his pain. It’s not the same patience he had during life. There is no intention behind it. There is no urgency underneath it for him to quell.

Only longing.

For what has been and what will be. As much as he misses being in Jack’s arms, knowing that Jack loves him, he doesn’t wish away these moments.

**

Jack sits in a bar, drinking quietly. He thinks of the man in the suit, in the land of the dead. Ianto. He doesn’t want to die again anytime soon, because he can’t imagine having to face him and tell him he had taken the job—even though he’d only taken the one job, the one task, and refused to return for more.

He doesn’t want Ianto to think he was right. Because of course there’s no way Jack wants to steal and con for money. Not with the risk of dying.

When he was younger, the danger was thrilling. The risk of life was a rush of fear and excitement. But now, now that he can’t die, he doesn’t want anything to do with death.

He doesn’t want to go back to that place.

He doesn’t want to see Ianto.

“Can I read your cards?” A girl is suddenly standing before him. Her eyes are wide and knowing, though she is young.

“No. Thank you,” he slurs. He doesn’t want to know what his future holds. Not when it’s going to last for so long.

The girl kneels, clearing his table with a clatter and a flippant toss.

“No, really,” he protests.

She gives him a piercing look, and he knows he cannot stop her. Three cards are face down in front of him, and she flips them one by one. “He’s coming,” she says. “The one you’re looking for.”

For a moment hope swells inside Jack—surely the Doctor can undo whatever this curse is.

She places three more cards. “But the century will turn twice before you find each other again.”

Jack feels stupid for having hoped, and even more stupid for despairing at her words. He laughs at her and mocks. “Oooh, are you for real?”

Her smile sobers him completely. He looks at the cards, sadness washing over him.

Next day he takes the job at Torchwood, Ianto be damned.

It’s not fair for Jack to be the only one who is.


	3. Learning How To Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: child murder, suicide

Despite himself, Jack loves it, running the streets, the alleys, the sewers chasing and catching the creatures drifting through space and time into Cardiff. What he doesn’t like is what comes next. When he carts them back to headquarters to be shot.

He watches, always watches, to remind himself what it is he’s doing when he finds these creatures. He’s not just playing tag—he’s a hunter.

It’s been a week he’s been tracking this young weevil. A child.

He’s on the trail alone and he allows himself to let it go, let it win, and he has chased it to Nash Point and has it cornered. Its young eyes are full of fear, and Jack knows it should be afraid.

Afraid of death—not the embarking from this realm, but the pain that will go along with it.

Afraid of Torchwood.

Afraid of Jack.

He has the child cornered at the pinnacle of the cliff, and he wants out. Out of hunting alien species. Out of murdering in the name of the new-crowned King. Out of immortality itself.

“Go ahead, Jack.”

Jack turns to see Alice.

“I thought you’d have trouble with this one, so I followed you.”

Jack clenches his teeth. “How dare you.”

She walks closer behind him and speaks in a taunting tone. “How dare I keep tabs on those in my employ?”

“No,” he says. “How dare you kill a child.”

“Jack, we’ve been over this. We can’t possibly store them all, but they’re a threat to the empire. To human history.”

“You don’t know we can’t store them all. You’ve never even tried.”

She doesn’t say anything, but holds out a gun for him.

He shakes his head, leans in to her face and growls, “You don’t know what it feels like to die!”

“If you can’t do the job, we’ll have to lock you up. Experiment on you. Find a way to kill you through trial and error.”

He’s breathing heavily.

“Or you can take this gun and shoot that beast and keep your job.”

A wind shakes the grass around their feet.

“Either way, the weevil dies.” Alice smiles.

Jack looks at the weevil. It is trembling, though it bares its teeth and hisses at them. Jack closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

He lifts the gun.

Aims.

Fires.

The small body jerks backwards, falling over the edge of the cliff. Jack’s heart is pounding and there is heat behind his eyes.

“Good job,” Alice says. “But I hope you don’t expect me to hike down there and retrieve the body.”

Jack drops the gun in the mud beside her. He steps to the cliff edge, looking over to where young limbs are being lapped by the incoming tide. He turns away from the cliff edge and looks to Alice. He spreads his arms. “I deserve this,” he says.

He leans back until he is falling. The speed of gravity tugging at him is more than he expected and he flails, grasping at air to hold him steady, to stop him from falling.

And then the ground does.

Ianto is waiting, again, and Jack yells, “Still love me now you little bitch?” He is walking toward Ianto, towering above him and cornering him against the wall.

Ianto’s eyes reveal surprise, but no fear.

“I just killed a child! You still love me?”

Ianto remembers asking Jack once, “Isn’t there anything better we can do than keeping them all in prison?” And Jack had said, “We used to kill them all. Every single one. Even children too young to be away from their mothers. If we could have done this much for them—keeping them locked up—I wouldn’t have had to pull that trigger.”

“Go ahead!” Jack is yelling. “Tell me what scum I am. I want you to kill me!”

“I can’t.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Because minutes ago I thought ‘I can’t kill a child’ and yet hear I am.”

“I mean, you can’t die here. It’s redundant. I can’t kill you.”

“Then send me to hell.”

Ianto laughs. “You’re already there.”

“This isn’t hell enough. Send me somewhere worse.”

Ianto grimaces. Swallows. “You know how to do that.”

Jack stares at Ianto, scouring his own mind, trying to scour Ianto’s. Then he closes his eyes and thinks of the void, the darkness where everyone is lost and he and Ianto are surrounded by black. Whispers shoot shivers up and down Jack’s spine and he thinks of his injuries—the broken back, the twisted knee, the swollen brain pressing tight inside his skull and aching, throbbing, killing him. He savors the pain as his punishment.

But soon they are gone from the void, but in a dark room with a light through a hole above them. They are sharing a bed and Ianto is holding Jack.

“Where are we?” Jack is bewildered.

“It’s from your future. It’s where we lie in each others arms every night, even when we don’t shag. It’s where you tell me you always feel safe whenever I’m there. It’s where I tell you I love you.”

Jack shoves Ianto soundly, concentrating on the void. “Get away from me, you sick fuck. Let me get what I deserve. Let me live in hell.”

“Jack I met you when you were in your early hundred and seventies, and I knew you until you were much, much older than that. I promise, whatever evil you’ve ever done, you’ll more than pay for it by the time the universe is done with you.”

“You don’t understand,” Jack yells. “I have to wake up on that beach, and I have to lift that small body and I have to _dispose_ of it. I’m not done doing all the evil things I’m going to do. And nothing will ever be enough to pay for that.”

Ianto says nothing.

Jack is disappearing into the void, and his face is contorted in pain. He yells out, “You fell in love with the wrong man, Ianto Jones!” and then he is gone.

Ianto is by himself. He smiles after the place where Jack has just been standing, a thrill running through his chest. It’s the first time Jack has said his name in death. “No,” Ianto says to himself. “I fell in love with the right man. You’ll see.”


	4. There is no Facade Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some graphic descriptions of body parts gone terribly wrong.

Jack doesn’t even show up screaming this time. Pain has conquered him, and he looks dead, even here.

“Do you know what it’s like?” He finally says. “Do you know what it’s like, to be trampled by horses?”

Ianto wants to kneel beside him, tuck his head into the crook of his arm and rock him gently. But he stands at a distance, knowing Jack is in no state to be tested. That’s the problem with being in love with someone who hates you; trying to give them what they want—trying to leave them alone.

But it isn’t up to Ianto. There is nowhere in death he could hide where Jack wouldn’t end up at his side upon dying. And as far as Ianto can tell, being only temporarily dead only affords Jack the ability to share space with Ianto, to share consciousness. Jack cannot establish his own individual space of consciousness in the land of the dead, because he’s not staying.

So Ianto stands at a distance. “Of course not, Jack.”

“Good. Don’t.”

“You wouldn’t rather I’d been trampled by horses?”

“No,” Jack croaks. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even you.”

Ianto fights the growing urge to hold him. Stroke his hair. Kiss his forehead. “At least it’s over, now.”

Jack looks up at Ianto, anguish filling his eyes. “I don’t know that. I could wake up, and they could still be galloping across my chest, turning my lungs into bruises, popping my heart, crushing my bones.”

Ianto feels a tear on his cheek. “I’m so sorry Jack.”

“I don’t wake up when I’m fully healed.”

Ianto is nodding, because he knows. Because he’s seen it.

“I wake up when I’m just healed enough to be alive. My ribs will still be broken when I wake up in the mud. My spinal cord could be severed, my brain could be swollen, my eyes could be detached and hanging from their sockets and I would still wake up and have to feel it all until it healed the rest of the way.”

“Jack, if I could do anything.”

“Bullshit,” Jack says. “You’ve tried fuck all since I’ve started coming here and you think sitting here with me is enough.”

“Bullshit,” Ianto says back. “I don’t think it’s enough. Nothing, _nothing_ , could ever be enough. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t everything I can give you.”

Jack stands and walks over to Ianto. “Boohoo,” Jack said mockingly. “It must be so hard for you to watch me feel pain. It must be so hard to sit their in a posh suit going anywhere you want all the time in this wretched place, and never having to feel anything at all, never having to be in pain yourself. It must be so hard for you, you poor man. How ever do you do it?”

Ianto feels more tears on his cheeks. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair is knowing you’re going to wake up on a battlefield at the start of the Great War after being trampled by your own cavalry. Not fair is knowing that if anyone notices, they’ll cart you away and experiment on you. Not fair is never being able to stay dead and pay for your sins. Not fair is what I live when I die. I never asked for this. I never would have wanted this.”

“I didn’t ask for this either,” Ianto says. “It’s not fair to either of us. And I know it’s worse for you. I know it is, Jack, but that doesn’t cancel out what it’s like for me.”

Jack stares at him, looking him up and down. “I didn’t make you fall in love with me,” he says finally.

“I’m not here because I fell in love with you. I’m here because you fell in love with me, and believe me, Jack—I didn’t make you fall in love with me. You did that all on your own.”

Jack sneered. “I just want you to know the only reason I’m still here right now is because I’m not ready to go back out there. Getting trampled by horses is worse than being stuck in this shithole with you, and that’s saying something.”

Ianto says nothing. Instead, he thinks of the Torchwood Hub in Cardiff. They’re standing at the door to the basement, looking across at the computers and workstations and Jack’s office.

“What the fuck is this?” Jack asks.

“It’s Torchwood. Around the time you finally find the doctor.”

“Which is still none of your business, by the way.”

Ianto ignores him. “There’s where you sit. In your office.” He points up at the windows. “And me, I’m over there.” He points to the coffee maker. “And you ignore me unless you need something done, the dry cleaning or some coffee or the CCTV footage wiped or watched back for something.”

“Why did you bring me here.”

“Because it’s a place we can be together without you ever having to notice me. I have lots of practice being invisible here.”

Jack snorts. “Brilliant. I’m glad I ignore you in the future.”

Ianto wrings his hands and thinks of Lisa. “Me, too, sir.” He smiles enigmatically.

Jack furrows brows at him, but then his eyes go wide and he’s screaming and they’re both in a battlefield in France at nighttime. Horses are galloping in the distance. Jack scrunches his eyes shut tight. “Don’t let me go, don’t let me go.”

Ianto grips his shoulders but soon he disappears and there is nothing Ianto can do. When Jack is gone and it is quiet again, he notices there are still tears running down his cheeks. 

This is what he hates most about death: his consciousness and his reality are identical, and he cannot hide his feelings. There is no facade here.

 


End file.
